


Defender of the Faith

by owlmoose



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of confronting Yunalesca after Lord Braska defeated Sin, Auron returned home to Bevelle and to Yevon. His rise to Maester and what followed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defender of the Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [storyless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyless/gifts).



> Written for a prompt from storyless: "I'd like see what would have happened if Auron never went back to challenge Yunalesca -- never left the church of Yevon and rose the ranks as a bitter, cynical 'hero'."

Auron stood alone on the top of Mount Gagazet, sword resting against his back, looked over the smoking pile of Sinspawn bodies piled in the chasm below, and knew that Sin was dead.

Sin was dead, Braska was dead, Jecht... was dead. His monstrous aeon had wrapped Sin in a crushing embrace as the two of them fell together into the distant ocean, Jecht's victory howl echoing off the mountainside even after they disappeared beneath the waves. So he was dead. Close enough to the truth; it was the only truth Auron would allow himself to believe. The only truth...

He turned and faced the other direction: the great ruin, the ancient buildings, the temple swarming with pyreflies. Memories. His memories. He knew he ought to go back and confront Yunalesca, make her confirm what he was beginning to suspect about the summoners, the aeons, and Sin. Go back, and find a route to Jecht's Zanarkand, to honor the promise he'd made look after Jecht's boy. But surely that vow had died with Jecht. Surely Zanarkand was a thousand years gone. There was nothing in that direction but death, and Auron was sick of death.

Bone-weary and heartsore, he finally allowed his sword to slip from his aching hands; it fell point down and stuck in the ground, muddy with melting ice and blood, standing straight up. With barely a backward glance, he decided to leave it there: Let that be his monument to High Summoner Braska. And he began the long, slow trudge down the mountain, to find the maesters and let them know the happy news, the glad tidings of great joy. Sin is dead; long live Sin. Forever may he reign.

-x-

Bevelle had given Auron a hero's welcome: cheering crowds, fireworks, a medal awarded by Grand Maester Mika himself, a parade. He thought of Jecht as he walked down the city's streets alone, surrounded by a happy, worshipful throng. Here was the parade Jecht had expected, his name on the lips of all the faithful, spoken with a reverence only slightly less than was applied to Braska's and his own. And he would never know it.

Hours later, when the speeches and prayers were done, Auron made his escape, to his old room in the warrior monks' barracks. This much had been restored without question, and the rest would be his if he wanted it: his title, his command, his most favored status among the officers. Amazing, the sins that could be washed away by coming home a hero. But there was a price, unspoken but known to Auron all the same, a hard look in the Maesters' eyes: "tell no one what you have seen." He closed his eyes and attempted to slip into a state of meditation; calm had only just started to come when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter," he said, sitting up and adjusting his robes.

The door opened slowly, and then Kinoc stepped inside. Auron had seen his long-time friend and rival from a distance several times during the festivities, but there had been no opportunity for them to speak. Kinoc stood just inside the doorway, hands behind his back. "Congratulations," he said. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks." Auron sat forward. "What brings you here?"

Kinoc grinned. "My best friend is back from the dead; isn't that reason enough?"

Auron studied Kinoc's face for a moment; he found no deception there, but it could be hard to tell with Kinoc. He shook his head and chuckled. "Of course."

"Good." Kinoc glanced toward the desk in the corner of the room. "May I...?" Auron indicated assent with a tilt of his head, and Kinoc took a seat. "I know you just got here. I can't even imagine what it was like to go up against Sin. And Braska..." He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry."

The tightness gripped his chest, but it was already less than the last time. "It was... difficult. I'd rather not say any more right now."

"Of course." Kinoc let the silence sit for a moment before he continued. "So, I don't want to rush you. But do you know what you're going to do next?" He glanced around the room. "Is taking back your old room a signal, or just force of habit?"

"A bit of each, I suppose," Auron replied. He folded his hands in his lap, examining his scarred, calloused fingers. "Going on pilgrimage... it changes a man in ways I will never be able to describe. I have seen things, learned things... And now, to come back here, to be the face of Yevon's victory over Sin?" He shook his head. "I don't know if I can be a part of it."

"I see." Kinoc leaned forward in his chair. "And what would you do instead?"

_Spread the truth._ But what truth? Auron had worried at the pieces of this puzzle all the way back from Mount Gagazet, but they refused to arrange themselves into a whole. He could talk to scholars, study the teachings, haunt the library, but he doubted the answers would present themselves willingly. Was he prepared to go up against all of Yevon? "I... I don't know."

Kinoc nodded, then stood up. "Just think carefully before you decide. You're Spira's greatest living hero in centuries. That gives you power, but there are a lot of people who would use you, too. You'll need to play your cards carefully." His mouth twitched into a half-smile. "And you were never much good at political games."

Auron snorted. "I can't argue with that."

"I'm just saying, if you need any help, any advice, you know where to find me." Kinoc looked at his feet, then back up; the smirk was gone, replaced with genuine relief. "Auron. I'm glad you made it home."

Auron held out his hand, and Kinoc clasped it. "I'm glad to see you, too."

Kinoc squeezed Auron's hand, then dropped it to present a prayer bow. "Good night, old friend. I'll see you soon." And then he was gone, leaving Auron with new unquiet thoughts to replace the old ones.

-x-

And so Auron stayed in the temple, largely because he had nowhere else to go. First, he delivered little Yuna to Besaid Island, per Braska's wishes; perhaps he could have stayed there with her, but Braska had wanted Yuna to grow up far away from Yevon and politics, and his presence would have attracted too much of both. That errand completed, he returned to Bevelle, resumed his place with the warrior monks and quickly rose through the ranks -- the promotion he had lost to Kinoc was gone, of course, but others followed, and before long he was head of the entire order, with Kinoc as his second in command. And when the time came to name a new human maester, there was no question who would be called.

The day of the ceremony dawned clear and bright. Auron ascended the platform, setting aside his armor for heavy orange robes as bells rang all around, tolling a song of victory for the first time since Sin had been defeated, six years ago. He knelt before Grand Maester Mika and bowed his dark head -- he had cut his hair short some years before -- as the blue stole settled on his shoulders. He stood, and turned to face the throng of warrior monks and Crusaders gathered together, all of them shoulder to shoulder and bowing in unison, welcoming him as their supreme leader. He returned their bow, and they raised a mighty cheer, drowning out the distant chanting of the Hymn. It should have been a proud moment, a thrill of accomplishment, but as he looked out over the faces of his friends, his allies, his enemies, he felt only a gnawing emptiness, a keen awareness of the faces that were missing. As he rose, his gaze fell on the statue of Braska at the back of the room, the High Summoner's stone eyes looking back at him with a benevolent air, and for a moment it was as if Auron were alone in the crowded room with his old friend.

_"Is this right, my lord? Is this what you would have wanted me to do?"_

There was no reply; there was never any reply. Not now, not on the nights that sleep eluded him and he would come downstairs, searching Braska's face for some measure of peace. It rarely came then, and it would certainly not come now. And so he wrenched his eyes back to the growing crowd, to the men and women calling his name with reverence: "Maester Auron, Maester Auron." He bowed again, the knot in his gut unclenching. If he was a symbol for a lie, at least these soldiers fought for a very real cause: protecting the people of Spira. It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

-x-

"Welcome, my son."

Auron bowed to the Grand Maester, then rose. "I pray that I can reward the trust that you and the other maesters have laid in me."

Mika chuckled. "I have every confidence that you will. You are a legendary guardian, after all, a symbol of hope for the people." 

Auron lowered his gaze. "I am not the guardian the people should be lauding. And I suspect you know why, your grace." He let the old bitterness slip into his tone as he shook his head. "Why are summoners and guardians not told the truth? So that they can prepare themselves?"

Mika answered with silence and an incline of his head. Then he pulled his shoulders back and gathered his hands in his sleeves. "Walk with me, Auron." They turned and headed down the hallway, in the direction of the Grand Maester's private chambers. After a few minutes, they stopped in front of a tapestry, richly worked with the symbols of Yevon. "There are many things the people are not told, because we would not want them to lose hope. The hope of peace, of the end of Sin. Hope gives them reason to carry on."

"But everyone knows that a summoner must give their life to bring the Calm," Auron argued. "How does it change, if it is known that a guardian makes a sacrifice at their side?" 

His objection was met with silence, and Auron turned away from the tapestry and from Mika, eyes on the floor, disappointment burning in the back of this throat. Why had he not gone to Yunalesca for the answers he had wanted? Now it was too late.

Next to him, Mika cleared his throat. "Maester Auron?"

Auron turned back; the old man looked up at him, eyes twinkling as if lit by pyreflies. "Yes, your grace?"

"We may discuss this issue again, at another time. But for now, you know your duty."

Auron brought his hands in front of him, gripping his fingers together. "Of course." And he turned again, walking slowly down the corridor alone toward his new chambers, Mika's eyes on his back the whole way.

-x-

"Your grace?"

There was a sharp rap at the door, and Auron looked up from his desk to see two warrior monks there, standing on either side of a man in Crusader armor. He had cuts on his face and a bruise darkening around his eye, and by the grip of the monks around his upper arms, he was held prisoner, but he wore an air of pride regardless, chin jutting outward with stubborn righteousness.

"What is it?" Auron asked, setting aside the reports he had been reading.

One of the two warrior monks -- senior, by his insignia, and with a familiar face although Auron did not know him by name -- stepped into the room, jerking the prisoner forward with him. "We caught him with machina, sir."

"Ah." Auron stood and faced the miscreant, who glared straight back, no sign of regret or penitence in his bearing. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"I don't deny it," the man replied. "And I'd do it again."

Auron stepped around the desk to take a closer look at the man's injuries. "And yet, you resisted arrest." The man swallowed and looked away at last, a light flush coming up the side of his neck. Yes, he was hiding something. But Auron kept secrets, too. He glanced back at the warrior monks -- the warrior monks who, unbeknownst to most of the populace, had machina weapons stashed in their own barracks. "You are dismissed," he said. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Your grace." The monks snapped to attention and bowed, then departed. Auron pushed his chair back from the desk and took a moment to consider the prisoner before beginning his questioning.

"What is your name?"

"Beclem, sir." 

"And to where are you assigned?"

"Mushroom Rock Road. We patrol the coast between the end of the Mi'ihen Highroad and Djose Temple."

"Ah." Auron raised an eyebrow and noted that Beclem's chin had raised a fraction. In pride, in defiance? "A noble posting. The Crusaders in that area have taken heavy losses since Sin's return."

"Yes, they have." A new edge came into Beclem's voice, tinged with grief. He paused, as if to say something further, but then he just shook his head.

"So, you are posted to Mushroom Rock." Auron tilted his head. "Then what brings you to Bevelle? And how did you come to possess machina weapons?" Beclem pursed his lips, as if to keep the answer from escaping, and shook his head again; Auron stepped back with a sigh. "I don't want to imprison you. I'd rather see you on your patrol, protecting travelers and the temple from Sin. But if you don't give me any choice..."

Beclem shook his head. "Throw me in the dungeon if you have to. This is more important than one man more or less on patrol."

Auron stared hard at him. He hadn't seen such determination on a man's face since Braska. "What could be more important than your duty?"

"I know the answer."

The smooth, calm voice came from the open doorway. Auron looked up, and stifled a groan. Why had he neglected to order the monks to close the door? "Maester Seymour."

Yevon's newest maester inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Maester Auron." He spoke the title with the slightest hesitation, as he always did, as if he were crafting it into an insult. "May I enter?"

Auron waved him inside, and Seymour shut the door behind him. "What's going on?"

"We discovered one of his compatriots meeting with Al-Bhed on the docks." He sent a half-apologetic glance to Beclem, frozen in his seat. "She was... less reluctant to answer a few questions. A group of Crusaders, no longer content to experiment with machina rifles and other forbidden trinkets, have commissioned the Al-Bhed to build cannon and a lightning-based weapon for installation on the Mushroom Rock Coast. Then they plan to lure Sin there in the hopes of defeating it with one massive barrage." He raised his eyebrows. "Do I have the gist of it?"

Beclem's defiance slipped away as he slid down in the chair, shoulders hunched over, cheeks turning white. "Yes, your grace," he mumbled.

Seymour rested a hand on Beclem's shoulder; he cast a nervous eye at the blue-taloned fingers, but did not visibly flinch. "There; isn't it easier to admit the truth?"

Auron stood up and walked in a tight circle, making every effort to stop the shaking in his hands. "Fools!" He turned on Beclem with an angry glare. "Can't you see this plan is madness? No machina can destroy Sin."

Beclem shook off Seymour's hand and looked back and forth between them. "How do you know? Have you tried?"

"Now, now." Seymour patted Beclem's arm again, then pulled away. "We're all on the same side here, surely?" He indicated that Beclem should stand. "Please, wait in the hallway while I discuss the matter of your punishment with my colleague."

Beclem turned to Auron for confirmation; Auron opened his mouth to object, but something in Seymour's lowered eyes stopped him. No, better to show unity in front of the men. He nodded to Beclem, who saluted. "Yes sir. I'll be right outside."

The Crusader left, heels snapping against the floor. "A disciplined soldier," Seymour mused at the door closed behind him. "I wonder what inspired a man so inclined to the rank and file to rebellion."

"One dead friend too many," Auron replied, a trace of melancholy slipping into his words. "A feeling I remember all too well."

Seymour turned on Auron. "And yet, here you sit, a Maester of Yevon. Not every disillusioned man turns on his beliefs."

Auron returned to his seat and crossed his arms. "If you have a point to make, your grace, please make it. Crusader discipline is my responsibility, so I hope you have good reason for countermanding me in front of one of my men."

Seymour bowed at the waist. "Apologies, Maester Auron. I was so long away from court, sometimes I neglect the niceties of rank and command. It will not happen again."

"Yes, fine." Auron waved away the breach of etiquette. "Now, your point?"

"Of course." Seymour took the chair that Beclem had vacated and laid his hands on the desk. "This plan of the Crusaders is both dangerous and heretical. It should not be allowed to go forward. And yet, what would we gain by forbidding them? They knew it would never be sanctioned, and they plotted it regardless. Throwing a few ringleaders in the Via Purifico will only embolden the rest, convince them of their rightness. But what if we looked upon this as an opportunity?"

Auron leaned back in his seat, eyebrows shooting upward. "What sort of opportunity?"

"Allow experience to teach the lesson that the priests' stories can never make real." Seymour smiled, with a coldness that make Auron's skin creep. "Instead of stopping them, we quietly encourage them in their plan. And if not everyone survives, well." He spread his hands and shrugged. "Inevitable casualties of war."

Auron stared at Seymour for a long, hard minute, examining his face for suggestions that he was joking. "You're serious," he finally said. "You would throw away a generation of Crusaders for a lesson?"

Seymour shrugged. "Not all the Crusaders will follow, but the ones that do will serve as a stark example for the others, will they not? And besides." He lowered his eyes. "Most of them will likely die in the fight against Sin regardless, as we wait for another High Summoner to rise. Why not spend their lives for a cause?"

"You're mad." Auron stood from his chair and pointed toward the door. "Get out of my office, and never bring a scheme like this to me again."

"As you wish," Seymour replied. His tone spoke faintly of surprise, which only make Auron's fury burn brighter; how could Seymour have imagined that he might go along with such a horror? "The Crusaders are yours to command, of course. I only ask that you give it some thought."

He vanished in a swirl of blue robes, and Auron took a moment to calm himself, dropping back into his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His eyes fell on the locked drawer in the left-hand pedestal. If he pulled the small key from the depths of his pocket, unlocked the drawer and opened it, he knew what he would find: a machina pistol, inlaid with colored metal, loaded with deadly bullets. An ancient weapon, probably carried with honor by some leader or another during the machina wars. A legacy of the history that Yevon had vowed would never return. It was Auron's, but he never carried it. Just knowing it was there made him ill. But something stopped him from throwing it away, or seeing it destroyed. He was just hypocritical enough to know he might need it someday.

Auron sighed and closed his eyes, massaging his temples to calm this sudden headache. He had more immediate things to deal with, like calling Beclem back inside. He would find the ringleaders and put a stop to this plan, no matter what it took.

-x-

"As plans go, it has a certain... audacity. You have to give him that." Kinoc chuckled and took a sip of his ale.

Auron just shook his head. He had told Kinoc the entire story over dinner; speaking it aloud had helped unclench the fist of anger that had wrapped around his heart. "It is abominable," he said. "How can a maester of Yevon be so callous toward the lives of the people he is called to protect?"

Kinoc shrugged. "Seymour's never been warm." He lowered his voice, even though there was no one to overhear -- they dined alone, in Auron's apartments, as they often did. An opportunity to share information, and for Auron to get Kinoc's take on events; he was loathe to call it gossip. "Ever since his exile as a boy, or so they say."

"That's no excuse," Auron snapped back. "Many of us were orphans, or otherwise separated from our families, by Sin or politics. Most of us aren't unfeeling monsters."

"Fair enough." Kinoc leaned forward with a raised eyebrow. "But from a purely calculating perspective, the plan has merit. And fighting Sin with ancient machina? Not the worst idea I've ever heard."

Auron found his jaw dropping half-open in disbelief. "What? How can you say that?"

"Oh, open your eyes, Auron!" Kinoc sighed. "A machina weapon is standard issue now for warrior monks serving in Bevelle temple. And surely you're aware of the cannons and metal warriors that we've been digging up from the basement. I know about that plan to rebuild a wounded Crusader with machina limbs, and I know you signed off on it. Change is coming, my friend, whether you like it or not. Why not be in the vanguard rather than dragging your heels behind? And..." he lowered his voice and leaned even closer in. "I've heard stories about an ancient weapon that could put us ahead of the forefront. A weapon that could go toe-to-toe with Sin."

"This is madness!" Auron pushed his chair back from the table, the feet scraping over the stone floor. "How..."

Kinoc held up his hands, batting at the air. "Just hear me out. There is an ancient weapon beneath Bevelle, left over from the wars with Zanarkand like the rest. It's called Vegnagun, and it could destroy Sin, all right. Blow it up without a trace. It's a little... tricky to control, which is why no one has ever used it before. Mika thinks it's not worth the risk. But I disagree; I have a plan. And this foolishness of the Crusaders could make the perfect cover."

It was a temptation. Just for a moment. Sin gone, possibly forever, without the need for a summoner to go on pilgrimage, face the same terrible choice as Braska, the same awful fate as Jecht? What would Auron give, to make that reality?

His own life, for certain, but not the lives of the men and women he commanded. And certainly not their faith. "No. Never. And you will do nothing of the sort. That's an order." He leveled a hard stare at his friend; for a moment, Kinoc stared back, flint in his eyes, and then he looked away with a shrug.

"As you say, your grace," he murmured. And as they finished the rest of their meal in silence, Auron wondered if he could ever trust Kinoc again.

-x-

Auron emerged from the stadium tunnel stairs and into the blinding sunlight, raising his hand to shade his eyes. He hadn't been a blitzball fan as a youth, and ever since the pilgrimage he'd made a special effort to avoid the sport -- too many memories. But the Crystal Cup finals were the greatest public event on all of Spira, sponsored by Yevon, and so for the sake of form he had come every year since being named Maester. He could put up with one day of sport, crowds, and too much sun.

A team of warrior monks cleared a path for Auron, Seymour, and Mika, leading them up to their seats on the dais. Auron rested his hands on the railing and looked out over the sphere, already half-filled with water, and considered the spectators filing into the bleachers. There were a few box seats covered with awnings, probably for wealthy merchants and temple officials, but most of them would be out in the bright, hot sunlight. Blitz had no meaning, ultimately, little more than a diversion and a bit of local pride for a few. But it kept the people happy, and so Yevon played its role as the tournament's benefactors. Then the regular season would begin, and those who could safely get to Luca would gather here, protected by legions of Crusaders and warrior monks. It had been generations since Sin had attacked Luca. Luck, or some other forces at work? Yet another thing Auron choose not to think about too deeply. He settled back into his chair, flanked by warrior monks, and took the cold drink handed to him by one of his attendants -- no shade for the Maesters of Yevon; they might have prime seats, but the same sun beat down on them as on everyone else. 

"A fine day for a tournament," Seymour remarked behind him. Auron assented with a simple grunt, not turning around; he had not spoken to the other maester beyond the requirements of politeness since their disastrous discussion two months ago. He'd heard no more rumblings of Crusader mutiny, but what little trust he'd once had in Seymour was now completely eroded. The spies he'd put in place would have to remain, for now. "Ah, I see the lady Summoner feels the same."

At that, Auron did turn around, craning his head back to look up at Seymour. "What?"

"The Lady Yuna." Seymour stretched out a blue-clad arm, pointing across the blitzsphere to the next box seating area. "There, with one of her guardians."

Auron set down his drink and stood up to get a better look, scanning the crowd until he saw her: a slim girl with shoulder length brown hair, dressed in white, a staff on her back, leaning forward. It was difficult to tell from here, but she seemed to be smiling, tilting her head sideways to listen to her companion, an older woman dressed all in black, impossibly long black braids streaming down her back. "Yuna," he murmured. He was only glimpsing her from a distance, he hadn't seen her since she was seven years old, but it was unmistakably her. Auron could see her father in the tint of her hair, the determined set of her shoulders, the thoughtful tilt of her head. 

He motioned to his guard to rise and follow, and then he walked down the stairs and around the stadium, not taking his eyes from the young summoner as he made his way toward her. As he approached, she turned and, seeing him, her hand flew up to her throat and her eyes widened, round as saucers. "Maester Auron!" She scrambled to her feet and then prostrated herself into a bow, her forehead almost reaching to her knees.

"My Lady Summoner," Auron replied, composing himself to return the bow. "I hear that congratulations are in order." 

"Yes." She smiled, and her eyes lit up. Auron gestured for her to come to him; she obeyed, dancing down the steps and stopping in front of him to bow again. "I have received the aeons of Besaid and Kilika, and once the tournament is finished we make for Djose."

Auron nodded. None of this was news to him; he'd followed Yuna's progress, receiving regular reports on her training since her childhood. His emotions regarding her decision to go on pilgrimage, to risk the same fate as Braska, were decidedly mixed, but he contented himself with the hope that her father would be proud. Now, standing before her, the tug-of-war continued. Would Braska have wanted his daughter to follow in his footsteps? Or had Auron failed in his duty to keep her safe?

Another failed duty. Auron closed his eyes for a moment, turning his head away to swallow down the bile. What was one more on the pile? He looked back at Yuna. "So, you make the pilgrimage, then. Who are your guardians?"

Yuna gestured to the dark woman, who had followed her down. "I am fortunate to have two guardians, your grace. This is Lulu, and Wakka will be joining us later -- he's the captain of the Besaid Aurochs, so he's with them now."

Lulu lowered her eyes -- a bright red, startling in her pale face -- and bowed. "Your grace."

"Well met, my lady Guardian," Auron replied, bowing again. "You are, I trust, an experienced traveler?"

"I am," she said with a nod. "This is my third pilgrimage, Wakka's second. We learned a great deal on our previous journeys, and we are ready to protect Yuna with our lives."

Were they? Could any guardian be truly ready for what they would face upon reaching Zanarkand? Auron looked at her face, as proud and undefeatable as any guardian who had passed through Bevelle. And Yuna, her eyes suffused with quiet excitement. She was ready to sacrifice herself, but her friends? She did not understand, could not understand. And Auron was complicit in hiding the truth from her, from all of them. The truth of the guardian's sacrifice, of machina and corruption in Bevelle, of the Final Summoning, of Yunalesca. Of the spiral of death that was surely sealing Spira's doom.

The words stuck in his throat; the oath he had taken in a forbidding temple far from here kept him from speaking them, from breaking the spell. Instead, he only bowed again. "Yevon be with you and guide your path," he said. "And when you reach Bevelle, come and visit me."

"I will, your grace, and thank you." Yuna bowed a third time, and when she rose, her eyes gleamed. "Thank you for protecting my father, and me, and all of Spira."

_I should be going with them._ It was a bolt of knowledge, true and clear, the spirit of Braska, of Jecht, echoing in his brain. Then he could protect her, shield her, help her bear the truth. And, when the time came, he could make the sacrifice he should have made ten years ago instead of letting fear take over, instead of forcing Jecht to go in his place. 

Could he do the impossible, and find a way to save them all?

He shook his head. "I am not the one you should be thanking." He stepped forward and laid his hands on her shoulders, and she looked up at him, brow wrinkled in confusion. "I leave you here, with my blessings, for what little they are worth." Leaning down, he brushed his lips across Yuna's forehead, a kiss of protection and fatherly affection, the kiss he knew Braska would give his daughter if he were here. "Find me in Bevelle." He pulled away, and then he walked away, returning to his place of honor and leaving Yuna to hers, his thoughts already far from here, turning to the secrets of the temple library. He would turn them all up to be examined in the light at last, and when Yuna arrived, he would be ready for her.


End file.
